Amour: Historical Romance (Passion and Glory Book 1) (5 page)

Seated at table was the marquis’ eldest son Francis, his future bride Julienne de Salvagnac, her younger sister Éléonore, and Madame de Salvagnac. His future daughter-in-law looked splendid in a pale green evening gown.
It won’t hurt that she’s quite fine to look at, in addition to the large dowry she’ll bring.
He’s luckier than I was with the choice my father made for me.

Madame de Salvagnac rose to welcome her husband and his guest. “There you are, my dear. We’d begun to think we’d lost you.”

“Lost us? What a notion, my dear. How could that be? I was just showing Monsieur le Marquis my library in the east wing. We had some important matters to discuss in private. Matters which will be of interest and advantage to others as well as the marquis and myself.”

The baronne studied her husband’s demeanor with care. Agnès Caroline Marie de Saint-Giresse had hazel eyes murky with guile, set wide apart and full of the sultry indolence of the tropics. Born into a noble but impoverished Gascon family, her nose was straight and narrow, anchored above a small red cherry of a mouth which nestled over a rounded, cleft chin. Her face was attractive, if unremarkable, but as one followed a line from the point of her chin, down past the long elegant neck, the eye was swallow up in the lush creamy abundance of the feature for which she was most known and admired. Her bosom was simply exquisite. She knew this and displayed it to best advantage. The prevailing tastes in fashion favored a very open neckline in which almost all of the breast, save for the nipple, was exposed. Though most ladies of good breeding covered the bosom in lace once married, the baronne eagerly displayed her bountiful décolletage without such demure flaps of concealment. She had seldom known a man capable of overlooking “her two best companions” as she often referred to her breasts. She had also discovered, that the more she revealed of her grand balcony, the prettier and wittier most men seemed to find her. It was the fineness of her bosom which had initially attracted her husband to be. Having seen her among the noble pews in church, the young Rocheforte couldn’t resist approaching for a better look. Once Agnès had learned that his fortune was even larger than his very real interest, she and her two best companions, had done everything in their power to encourage and hold his attentions.

The baronne glanced across the table at the handsome Comte de Marbéville, who was seated next to her eldest daughter Julienne. For more than a year she had secretly pursued her aims of an alliance with vigor, putting her influence and considerable talent for persuasion to the sternest test. As of late, the comte’s attentions had seemed to be directed elsewhere. Afraid that her gilded fish might be slipping off the hook, she had arranged tonight’s dinner on relatively short notice to close matters once and for all, instructing Julienne beforehand on how precisely to use all her charms to tie down the handsome young comte. Her husband was usually adept enough at following her lead, but he did on occasion get things wrong. And in this matter it simply wouldn’t do to get things wrong. More than wealth was at stake.

The marriage with the Montferrauds would be the mechanism by which the baronne would exact a measure of revenge against all those who had looked down upon her for the perceived fault of marrying a commoner by birth. Her husband had bought his title. He was
noblesse de robe
– nobility of office, and not
noblesse de sang –
nobility of blood. By taking nobly
bought
Guy Rocheforte for a husband, nobly
born
Agnès de Saint-Giresse had thus lowered herself for money. The
salonnières
would never let her forget this ready debasement, no matter how wealthy she later became. To trade status for wealth was the behavior of a whore, and they treated her as if she were a courtesan, sneering their disdain at the theater, the opera, and any other place where ridicule could be exacted for their amusement. The baronne bore the slights with humility because she had to, but remembered every one, vowing to one day have vengeance for every petty insult she had been forced to endure.

And now, on this night, a way of achieving retribution had at last presented itself. No blood was bluer than Montferraud blood. With a daughter married into so noble and ancient a house, Agnès would be able to look down her nose at all her detractors. And with the Montferraud as the center of a new power base, other alliances could be orchestrated to further her family’s rise. For years she had waited, planned, schemed, to raise the cup of reckoning, and tonight, circumstances had at last contrived to place the sacred chalice of vengeance within her grasp. Had her husband done as she had hoped, or had the chance been allowed to slip away?

It must be tonight!
That much was certain. Unless an announcement was forthcoming, the object of her schemes had likely eluded her, despite all her efforts. The baronne’s stomach churned with anxiety as her husband saluted the table with a respectful nod, preparing to address them all. She gripped the edge of her seat, knuckles white with apprehension, wondering to what extent her plans had been made, or unmade, during the baron’s private discussions with the marquis.

“My dear guests and family. I have always esteemed Monsieur de Blaise and Monsieur de Marbéville, whom I am delighted today to receive in our home. There is admiration which exists between friends and acquaintances, I tell you, and there are also the bonds of devotion, duty, and respect which bind families together. Though similar in nature, these conditions are altogether different in both degree and import.”

The baron paused briefly for effect. He was not generally noted for the quality of his oratory. He was thus genuinely pleased his words held everyone in rapt attention. Glancing briefly around the table to make eye contact with the captive audience before him, he smiled and resumed his remarks.

“Today I am delighted to announce the happy news that Monsieur de Blaise and I have agreed to join both our fortunes and our families together in formal alliance!”

Madame de Salvagnac let out an audible cry of joy before clasping her hands together in jubilation. It was the announcement she had hoped for! A wave of elation lit her face with triumph. She turned to look at Julienne.
How will she react? Does she even comprehend her fate has just been decided?
The baronne had dressed her daughter herself, with one purpose in mind, to catch the eye of the Comte de Marbéville and to hold it. Julienne wore a silk-satin
robe
à la française
of pale green, embroidered with yellow flowers, a striped green and yellow underskirt, and a matching stomacher. At the base of her graceful neck was a satin choker which featured a large emerald brooch surrounded by pearls. Her shapely young bosom was displayed as prominently as the baronne’s own, with equally mesmeric effect. Madame de Salvagnac beamed her encouragement at her daughter, proud to have produced such an enchanting and radiant specimen of French womanhood.
I understand what men desire. I knew once the comte laid eyes on you himself, he couldn’t resist you!

Aware of the instant scrutiny of everyone, Julienne maintained an outward appearance of obedience and submission, a beatific half-smile frozen on a countenance both beautiful and serene. All her life, the ability to conceal her true feelings beneath an outward show of contentment had been one of her most admired qualities. But Julienne Claire Sophie Rocheforte de Salvagnac—rich, sweet, beautiful, tranquil of temperament and spirit—was possessed of a surfeit of desirable traits. With straw colored hair, fair hazel eyes, and a full pair of “young friends” of her own, she had never lacked for prospects or attention. But the baronne had always been determined to make the best possible alliance she could for her daughter, which was why Julienne still remained unmarried at the ripe old age of nineteen.

“My dear child, what wonderful news! Let me be the first to congratulate both you and the Comte de Marbéville, on your betrothal,” Madame de Salvagnac offered with exuberance, casting a proud glance at her future son-in-law.

Julienne allowed herself a genuine smile. She could see what the alliance meant to her mother and father and was proud to have done so well for the family. She offered her hand to her future husband, her face lit with the radiance of one coming to realize she has just been very advantageously allied. The comte accepted the offering happily, pressing his lips to the back of Julienne’s palm.

“Monsieur de Marbéville, since we are now to be married, I should be pleased if you would bestow upon me your kiss, which I hope to be the first of many favors you will see fit to grant me as your obedient wife and steadfast friend.”

The Comte de Marbéville was more than pleased with the ready submission of his future bride. He had three other given names to follow the first—Christophe, Alexandre and Honoré, but preferred to be called Francis, which had been the name of his maternal grandfather. He was tall and thin, with the upright posture and pleasing manners expected of a man whose blood was so old and blue his nobility preceded the advent of kings. A perpetual smile adorned his face, displaying an upper row of fine white teeth. The comte seemed always on the verge of breaking out in a laugh, but seldom allowed his emotions or his speech to carry him to extremes. His dress was impeccable. Black shoes, silver buckles and red heels, white silk stockings, satin breeches of charcoal velvet, white silk waistcoat to which a gold watch fob was attached, and a charcoal velvet jacket heavily embroidered with silver thread. On his coat were silver buttons, and embellishments of double muslin lace at collar and sleeve. In contrast to the baron’s flamboyant suit, the comte’s attire was subdued and worn with the casual indifference of the very well-bred. It was also only slightly less expensive than what his future father-in-law wore, though only a very discerning eye would have guessed it. Jeweled rings adorned several fingers on each hand, reflecting the comte’s preference for large showy diamonds. The comte’s eyes were brown and full of mirth, brimming with the self-confidence his ancient lineage and the enormous size of his future inheritance, bequeathed him.

Francis looked toward his father for tacit approval to kiss his bride to be. The marquis gave his consent with a slight nod of the head. Leaning forward, the comte bestowed a gentle chaste kiss upon the lips of his fiancée as the table broke out in spontaneous applause. If the comte had felt any reticence at the sudden and somewhat unexpected alliance his father had earlier concluded and the baron had just announced, it was substantially lessened by the pleasure derived from a quick glance toward the décolletage of his bride-to-be’s gown. It confirmed undeniably, that he was a fortunate man and soon to be even more so. Julienne caught the direction of the comte’s gaze and smiled back at him without embarrassment.

The marquis offered his congratulations next, followed by Julienne’s seven-year-old sister, Éléonore, who hugged her sister twice, then pulled on her arm so that Julienne would bend down to be kissed on the lips.

“Look, my dear, at how excited your sister is to have the prospect of a wedding to attend. But where, pray tell, is my niece?”

The blank stare on the part of Madame de Salvagnac told the baron all he needed to know. He snapped his fingers, a signal which called one of his enslaved servants to his side.

“Have my niece found and fetched here at once!”

The baron was not a man often irritated, but the absence of the Vicomtesse de La Bouhaire, from such an important family event was the sole blight upon his moment of triumph—one he meant to remedy at once.

The Marquis de Blaise turned toward the baron. “How unfortunate, Monsieur de Salvagnac, that both of our children should have missed the announcement.”

The remark was an unwelcome reminder to the baronne of the sole mark on her banner of triumph. The Chevalier d’Argentolle was a great black mole, an ugly uncoverable blemish which spoiled the otherwise flawless white make-up of the Montferraud. She had done her best to hide and overlook the spot, even banishing the boy to the east wing while the rest of his family had been welcomed and entertained in style, but there was only so much that could be done. The chevalier’s presence in her house had only been tolerated at all, because it had been the single method possible to secure the company of the marquis and the comte. But at least after tonight neither she nor her family would be forced to bear the chevalier’s presence again.

The servants fanned out to begin their search, unaware that the vicomtesse was in fact quite close. She had followed the service corridor to the kitchens, arriving just as the baron had begun his speech. The vicomtesse knew all the best places of concealment in the château. She had hidden herself and Nicolas behind a paneled screen not far from the entrance to the dining room, preferring to hear what her uncle had to say before joining the rest of the company. The pair of fugitives had enjoyed a perfectly concealed view of the baron’s announcement and now observed the happy aftermath.

Sérolène squeezed Nicolas’ hand with affection, quietly pointing out to him the members of her family with whom he was not yet acquainted. “My uncle summons me, Monsieur d’Argentolle. Would you be so kind as to escort me to the
souper
?”

“Of course, Mademoiselle. If we must. But I shall regret not having you all to myself. It’s been the most wonderful time of my life.”

“I suppose we must go before we are discovered,” Sérolène said.

She didn’t want to go either. Staying with Nicolas would have been a far more preferable circumstance to joining her family at table. But some things were inescapable. At least in her uncle’s house. Mealtime was one of them. Nicolas offered Sérolène a smile and his arm. The vicomtesse accepted both. They left their hiding place together and proceeded into the dining room by the rear doors, walking past the steward as if they had not a care in the world.